


call out my name

by yvenger (jjjat3am)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 12:12:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15218918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/yvenger
Summary: It’s possible that Jesse is an awful roommate.





	call out my name

**Author's Note:**

> Information about Marcus biting his nails is from [this video he did with Jesse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ADZMiZtzXk)

 

 

Marcus is honestly a great roommate. He smells nice, he picks up after himself and he lets Jesse choose what he wants to watch on the TV. He goes on and on about United sometimes, but Jesse doesn’t mind that at all. He’s the same.

 

He snores, but it’s not real snores anyway,  more like these cute snuffling sounds that-

 

Maybe Marcus is too great of a roommate.

 

The only really gross habit Marcus has is how much he bites his nails and even that means he often has his fingers near his mouth, which is a visual that isn’t helping Jesse with his current predicament at all.

  
  


*

  
  


It’s possible that Jesse is an awful roommate.

  
  


*

  
  


It’s embarrassing to be this into someone that’s a full five years younger than you. Jesse should be charming and suave, sweeping Marcus off his feet with his superior experience with matters of the heart. Instead, he’s stuck on laughing at all of Marcus’s jokes and giving him his peas at dinner. 

 

“You’re practically an old man anyway,” Jesse says without thinking, and Marcus frowns at him.

 

“Is this because I said I like Motown classics? They’re classics for a reason, you know!”

Marcus insists they listen to his favorite songs that evening. He glances in Jesse’s direction after each new song, surreptitiously checking if he likes them or not and it’s so adorable that Jesse has to let go of his cool and collected persona for a while.

 

“Why are you smiling like that?” Marcus asks him, giving him a weird look. “It looks strange.”

 

Jesse kicks him and doesn’t even feel sorry about it.

  
  


*

  
  


Somehow it’s become Jesse’s job to single-handedly keep Marcus’s fingernails intact through this tournament. If left alone to be nervous, Marcus will gnaw them down to the skin, which means they’re always sore and Jesse has to watch him flinch away from lemons and tasks that require any dexterity. 

 

“Stop it,” he tells him in the morning when they’re waiting in line for breakfast.

 

“Stop it,” he says,  as they inspect the pitch and Marcus has somehow got three fingers in his mouth at once.

 

“Stop it,” he says, before a game. Marcus glares at him, and stubbornly doesn’t remove his fingers from his mouth. 

 

“Leave me alone, this calms me down,” he mutters around a full mouth. Jesse sighs, doesn’t leave himself too much time to think and reaches out to gently grasp Marcus’s hand and pull it from his mouth. Marcus lets him do it. 

 

He doesn’t move his hand away when Jesse cradles it gently in his own while they wait in the tunnel. The gesture hardly gathers them any weird looks from their teammates, since up the front Dele and Dier are almost full-on making out.

  
  


*

  
  


“Stop biting them, nothing stressful is happening,” Jesse says on the pitch before training starts. Marcus glares at him but removes his hand from his mouth.

 

Raheem, overhearing the exchange, abruptly gets a very excited look on his face. Instantly, Jesse has an awful feeling.

 

“Are you his dad now?” Razza asks, in a voice pitched to carry. “Are you doing up his laces next?”

 

Marcus rolls his eyes as the banter is picked up by the rest of the team. Jesse doesn’t say anything.

 

He’s momentarily arrested by the image of Marcus looking down at him and saying,  _ “Daddy.” _

 

He wipes the image away so quickly he almost gives himself mental whiplash and stumbles through the next training drill so badly that Southgate takes him aside afterward to ask if he’s okay.

  
  


*

  
  


There is one thing that stops Marcus from being an ideal roommate. He doesn’t seem to grasp one key part of roommate etiquette.

 

Almost every night, around midnight, Jesse gets shaken from his sleep by a muffled moan and sounds of movement. He lays stock still, listening to Marcus’s moans grow more frequent, accompanied by the sounds of flesh on flesh. 

 

Every night, after Jesse falls asleep, Marcus gets himself off, probably thinking he’s being quiet, definitely unknowing that Jesse is laying in the other bed, awake and hard as a fucking rock.

 

Marcus comes with a quiet gasp, cleans himself off and goes on to sleep. Jesse lays in the dark for hours, trying to will his hard-on away, feeling like the worst kind of creeper.

  
  


*

  
  


In the mornings, Marcus acts like nothing unusual happened. He’s annoyingly awake and bantering Jesse about his bleary-eyed appearance.

 

“Didn’t sleep so well last night?” he says.

 

Or,

 

“Had nightmares of that nutmeg in training, huh?” and similarly innocuous things that make Jesse want to punch him and kiss him and push him down on the bed and-

 

Now, if Jesse were a better person, a better teammate, a better friend, he’d probably say something to Marcus about it. Sure, it would be awkward and embarrassing, but then at least Marcus would know and things would go back to normal.  

 

Instead, Jesse memorizes the way Marcus sounds when he comes, and he tries and fails, to not remember it the next time he takes himself in hand.

 

At least Jesse takes care of his ‘problems’ in the shower, which is the proper way to do it.

  
  


*

  
  


It’s late by the time they get to bed after Denmark. 

 

Everyone is keyed up, exhaustion and adrenaline in equal measure, and there’s nothing in the world that’s ever felt quite like this. Jesse lays in the dark, shivers running up and down his body, listening for the familiar hitch in Marcus’s breathing. 

 

He doesn’t have to wait long. Off the field, Marcus is very much predictable, and Jesse probably knows him better than most people. That’s a heady feeling.

 

Maybe it’s the memory of the joy, of that top of the world feeling, that startles Jesse into movement. Or maybe it’s the barely muffled moan that echoes in the stillness of their room.

 

Jesse rolls on his side and looks for Marcus’s silhouette in the light coming through the blinds.

 

“Can I help you with that?” Jesse says, which in hindsight, isn’t the most eloquent way to start this particular conversation.

 

Marcus stills for a moment before his breath leaves him in a shudder. “I’m sorry I just...I’ll go to the bathroom-”

 

“Marcus,” Jesse says, “please.”

 

He hates how needy his voice sounds, but Marcus seems to hear something in it, since he leans over to turn on one of the bedside lamps. His eyes are dark in the dim light, his expression unreadable as if carved from stone.

 

“Are you serious?” he asks.

 

Jesse swallows against a dry throat. “Just get over here,” he says.

 

Marcus stays watching him for a moment that seems to stretch on into eternity. And then he slowly gets to his feet. At the first clear look at the outline of his dick in his sweatpants, Jesse takes a deep breath, almost choking on it.

 

Marcus crosses the gap between their beds slowly, coming to stand by its side, looking down at Jesse, still with those unreadable eyes. Feeling vulnerable, Jesse shifts to make room for him on the bed, pushing down the covers.

 

“Take off your pants,” Jesse says quietly. 

 

“Fuck,” Marcus swears as he reaches down. His hands shake, leaving the sweatpants in a pool on the floor. Jesse stares, because Marcus is beautiful.

 

The bed is queen sized but their knees still touch as they lay facing each other in the warm lamplight. There’s gooseflesh rising up on Marcus’s arms and their faces are close enough that Jesse can see the little scar underneath his nose, the gold flecks in his eyes.

 

Jesse reaches out, Marcus’s eyes following the movement.

 

“Can I touch you?” Jesse says, fingers hovering just above the skin of his stomach. Marcus nods, too fast. His breathing is coming in quicker now.

 

Jesse runs his knuckles over his stomach, the soft skin, and taut muscles. He brushes his fingers against the soft crease of Marcus’s hip and briefly, teasingly tangles in his pubic hair before wrapping his hand around his dick.

 

Marcus lets out a soft groan when Jesse touches him, his eyes slipping shut, and his legs falling further apart. The angle is weird but not unfamiliar. Jesse doesn’t know Marcus’s rhythm, he doesn’t know how hard he likes it, but he does know what he sounds like when it’s particularly good. He takes it as the guideline it is.

 

He watches Marcus’s face, his soft slack mouth and the fan of his eyelashes against his cheeks, the little furrow between his brows. Marcus is so much louder like this, moaning when Jesse picks up the pace or tightens his grip.

 

Lotion probably would have made things easier, but it turns out they don’t really need it. Marcus gives off so much precum that the glide quickly becomes easier, the liquid dripping between them, down Jesse’s hand.

 

“You’re so fucking wet,” Jesse says thoughtlessly, too awed to really concentrate on speech.

 

Marcus lets out a breathless sound, half-laugh, and half-moan. “You can’t just say things like that,” his voice breaks and instinctively Jesse presses closer, reaches out with his other hand to run a soothing hand down Marcus’s flank.

 

Marcus makes these short abortive movements with his hips, his moans coming louder and faster. Jesse lets him go, runs his fingers over the head of his dick, listening with awed satisfaction as Marcus practically sobs his name, pleading.

 

He takes him in hand again, and all it takes is a few more firm strokes before Marcus is coming with a groan, relaxing into his body as Jesse strokes him through his orgasm.

  
  


*

  
  


“I’ll be with you in a second,” Marcus mutters, blinking drowsily. It startles a laugh out of Jesse, who’s just about becoming aware of his dick trying to get his attention with the sexual organ equivalent of fire sirens.

 

“It’s sex, not a business appointment,” Jesse says, too turned on to be embarrassed by how breathless he sounds. He reaches down to push his sweatpants off his aching dick, hissing when the waistband grazes against him. “And don’t worry about it - I got it.”

 

He swipes off some of the come off Marcus’s stomach, uses it to slick his hand on his dick. Marcus shifts closer and some of the cloudiness gone from his eyes. 

 

“That’s so hot,” Marcus whispers, their gazes catching, and Jesse has to close his eyes against the image of him, messed up and gorgeous and watching him with so much intent in his eyes. Like he’s wanted this as much as Jesse had.

 

It’s over quickly after that. Marcus’s hesitant fingers skate over Jesse’s chest, circling his nipples, emboldened when Jesse moans at the touch. His hands drift downward until his palm rests over Jesse’s on his dick and that’s enough. Jesse comes with a whimper.

  
  


*

  
  


It’s Marcus’s awkward cough that forces Jesse’s eyes open. He looks up at Marcus, dark-eyed and suddenly strangely shy, his gaze drifting down.

 

“Wait,” Jesse says incredulously, “you’re ready to go again?”

 

Marcus mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “You’re really hot,” which is fantastically flattering.

 

“Oh, the resilience of youth,” Jesse says and reaches out to touch him again.

 

The second time is slower. Jesse dips his fingers in the divots of Marcus’s chest and pinches his nipples. He strokes him off slow, gentle because Marcus is so sensitive. By the end, Marcus is a wreck, reduced to shallow breaths and whimpers.

 

He comes with Jesse’s name on his lips.

  
  


*

  
  


Marcus goes boneless after his second orgasm, opening his eyes to lazily look at Jesse when he gets up.

 

“I’m just getting us a towel to wash up,” Jesse tells him, leaning over to smack a kiss on Marcus’s brow. Marcus closes his eyes, a slow smile growing on his lips.

 

In the bathroom, Jesse rinses off and wets a towel in warm water. He catches sight of himself in the mirror, bleary-eyed and sex-mussed, and exchanges an incredulous look with his reflection.

 

Marcus is lying exactly where Jesse asks him, though he opens his legs obediently as Jesse carefully wipes him off. After, Jesse touches his hand to his cheek to get his attention.

 

“You’re lying in a huge wet spot,” he says. “We should move to your bed.”

 

Marcus stretches out lazily, looking up at Jesse with a touch of mischief in his eyes. Jesse’s dick twitches, signaling him that in a couple of minutes it could also make another valiant attempt at getting hard again.

 

“Who says I’ll let you sleep in my bed?” Marcus asks, grinning up at him.

 

Jesse grins back. “After the game today, and the way I just blew your mind? I don’t think you can make it to the other bed without my help.”

 

“You blew my mind, huh?” Marcus says, pushing himself up on his elbows and swinging his legs off the bed. He actually is very wobbly on his feet when he stands up, and Jesse steps in to steady him with his hands on his hips.

 

After a moment, he moves his hands for a cheeky grab of Marcus’s nice firm ass, which makes Marcus jump and giggle. He immediately looks horrified at the sound that just came out of his mouth.

 

They tumble into bed, laughing as they tangle their limbs into something comfortable. Jesse throws the covers over them and they cuddle up, the feeling of their naked skin at the same time exciting and comforting.

 

“Sorry I just accosted you like that out of nowhere,” Jesse whispers, “I would have wanted to at least buy you dinner first.”

 

Marcus stills and Jesse is worried for a moment until Marcus laughs softly. “To be honest,” he says, “I figured you’d break by the second day of training camp. You held out for a really long time, I was starting to get worried you weren’t actually into me at all.”

 

Jesse pulls back to stare. “Wait, you planned this?” he asks. Marcus grins up at him, with an edge of smugness in it. “You little fucker!”

 

Jesse swoops in and kisses him, smothers Marcus’s laughter with the insistent press of his lips. He feels delirious with it, with the joy of the win, and under the soft touch of Marcus’s kisses. Exhaustion hits Jesse all at once, and between once breath and the next, he’s asleep.

 

*

 

He’s not awake to see Marcus roll over and turn off the bedside lamp, but he must feel the kiss Marcus presses to his cheek, because his lips curl up in a smile in his sleep. He looks like he’s living the most wonderful dream.

 

*

 

So maybe Jesse isn’t an awful roommate after all. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm not actually super confident posting explicit content, which is why I'm keeping this story anonymous for now. If you have any kind words for me about it, they're much appreciated and thank you for reading.
> 
> EDIT: I'm de-anoning this on a whim because it feels like enough time has passed. Thank you to everyone for their kind encouragement ❤


End file.
